


Cold Comfort

by fireflysglow_archivist



Category: Firefly
Genre: Gen Work, Het, Implied Relationship(s), Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-05-06
Updated: 2004-05-06
Packaged: 2019-04-29 12:41:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14472990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fireflysglow_archivist/pseuds/fireflysglow_archivist
Summary: Simon and Inara. Very dark.





	Cold Comfort

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Firefly’s Glow](https://fanlore.org/wiki/Firefly%27s_Glow), and was moved to the AO3 as part of the Open Doors project in 2018. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are the creator and would like to claim this work, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Firefly's Glow collection profile](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/fireflysglow/profile).
> 
>  **Author's notes:** Very very dark themes implied. Anything else would give away the twist. Betaed by Maystone.

  
Author's notes: Very very dark themes implied. Anything else would give away the twist. Betaed by Maystone.  


* * *

Cold Comfort

## Cold Comfort

The light in the shuttle was dim, calming. The scent of incense wafted from corners, supposedly calming as well. Soft, rich colors and fabrics assaulted her senses. 

Inara felt none of it. 

Numb was all she could deal with now. She shivered, and thought about turning the heat up, when a knock stuttered at the shuttle door. Inara sighed, rose to her feet gracefully, and did her mental inventory out of habit. Hair, clothes, posture. Wipe away any traces of emotion, crystalline as they might be. A quick glance in the mirror completed, she opened the door. 

Simon stood there, arm halfway raised to knock again. He was disheveled, shirt crooked and half undone, hair ragged. His eyes were more haunted than Inara had ever seen before. She said nothing, just moved to the side to invite him in. 

She followed, graceful as ever, refusing to acknowledge the tension across his shoulders, or the way his hands clenched and unclenched. "Tea?" she offered, as evenly as possible. Simon nodded, terse. He sat down on the verge of the loveseat's cushions. 

Inara poured tea, only years of practice keeping her hands from shaking. It's been a stressful week, and it's starting to wear on all of them. She's a little shocked, though, at Simon's extreme reaction. He's never been easy to read, despite her years of training. 

"Is there anything I can help you with, Simon?" Inara hid her emotions, a mask going up like a second skin. She watched, as Simon curled his hands around his teacup and stared, steam rising from the hot liquid. Inara imagined the steam wreathed around their faces, invisible, but tactile, damp heat curling their hair. 

They were small cups, however, and the tiny tendrils of steam did nothing. Inara brought herself back down from her fantasy. Everything was here, now, and painful. She looked at Simon, who hadn't moved. Her mouth opened to ask again, when Simon finally said something. 

"I wanted to hate you, you know." The words came out like a slap on her face. Simon glanced at Inara, shrugged. "I knew it was hopeless, but I was jealous." 

Inara interrupted, "Simon, I" she hesitated; macabre interest holding her tongue. She denied it. "You don't need to tell me." 

"Yes." It was a simple, strangled, painful word. "I do." 

Simon took a ragged breath. He looked at Inara, holding her eyes with pain and strength. Hot blue surged through her as Simon continued. "I have to tell you, Inara. It does ushim," he paused, gulped for air, continued, "no good to keep secrets now." 

A tiny crack appeared in her faade. Inara drew a shuddering breath. No, this was not what she was expecting. She jumped imperceptibly at Simon's bitter laugh. "I mean, I shouldn't have expected anything from him. I was just a problem, a complication. River and me we just made things more difficult, more dangerous." 

"Simon" 

"And here you were, always cool, always beautiful." Simon's voice cracked. "The princess in her royal tower. Why would he even take a look at me when you" 

Inara grabbed onto Simon's flailing hand. "That's notSimon!" 

Simon shook his head, but didn't pull away from her grasp. "It wasn't you, Inara. It was always him." His eyes closed in defeat. "MaHe couldn't see. Wouldn't even look at me. Damned stubborn man." 

Her heart clenched. She had had no ideaSimon was so close, so focused, she had had no clue of the depths of his feelings until this moment. Inara squeezed her hand, feeling Simon's pulse under her fingers. "It's okay, Simon. It doesn't matter now." 

The eyes which had burned so hot moments ago were glazed in tears. "It matters more. It matters because I'll neverOh god, Inara, he's gone, and I'll never get to tell him!" Simon broke, torso heaving in silent sobs. He slid off the cushion, kneeling on the floor, one arm braced on the table, the other taut, and clenching her hand. Inara slid closer, and draped her free arm around Simon's shoulders, fighting her own tears. 

No words were exchanged as Simon buried his face in Inara's lap and cried silently. Her hands stroked over and over his back, and tears, crystalline and bitter, coursed down her cheeks.

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

Title:   **Cold Comfort**   
Author:   **skripka**   [website]   
Details:   **Standalone**  |  **R**  |  **gen het *slash***  |  **4k**  |  **05/06/04**   
Characters:  Inara, Simon   
Pairings:  implied only   
Summary:  Simon and Inara. Very dark.   
Notes:  Very very dark themes implied. Anything else would give away the twist. Betaed by Maystone.   
  



End file.
